Legacy
by michellemtsu
Summary: Written for the J/B Fanworks Fest on LJ. Spoilers for AFFC and slight ones for ADWD. If you squint.


**Author's note: This is a one shot. I repeat, this is a one shot.** And really, who wants to know what happens after this? Isn't this depressing enough? ;) This was written for the Jaime/Brienne fanworks fest on LJ. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** SO NOT MINE.

**Legacy**

Jaime sat high on Honor surveying the battlefield. He could see the crimson and gold Lannister banners fluttering in the breeze, while those with the crowned stag were raised by his men in triumph. It appeared that Lord Stannis's forces had finally been defeated. Jaime sent out his squires to his various commanders ordering the celebrations stopped; this was no time to gloat over a fallen foe. One never knew where the next attack would come from; Jaime had learned that lesson many years ago in the Whispering Wood.

The day won, Jaime returned to his tent. After dismounting, he handed the bridle to a groom and entered the tent. Standing next to the map table was Podrick Payne. Alone. His eyes were red and swollen; there was a gash on his forehead but the boy hardly seemed to notice. There was only one reason for Payne to be in his tent alone. With dread, Jaime looked down at the piece of cloth clutched tightly in Payne's fist.

It was blue. The same blue as her eyes.

The tent was eerily silent when they brought in the stretcher. The body was covered in a coarse wool blanket, but both the blanket and the stretcher were too small for Brienne's large frame. One leg dangled awkwardly over the side. One of the young squires stumbled causing a lifeless arm to fall and drag long the ground.

Jaime growled dangerously and stood up. He towered over the hapless boys. The clumsy one looked to his fellows for help, but they all stared intently at the ground, ignoring him. Thwarted, the boy muttered a hurried apology and bowed his head respectfully.

"Lay her on the table – _gently_," he warned, "then get out of my sight."

They did as he bid. Once they were gone, Jaime stared at the blanket covered form. Still, even with the evidence in front of him, it didn't seem real. How could Brienne be dead? She was _so_ strong – stronger than him – and stubborn. He'd never met a more stubborn wench in his life.

_Maybe there'd been a mistake_, he thought wildly. The rational part of his brain knew it was a foolish hope, but Jaime was past caring. He had to know.

Gently, he pulled back the rough wool with his good hand. Then he forced himself to look at her face.

Her straw colored hair was matted and dirty. The half healed scar on her face had been rubbed raw from the helm she'd worn. Jaime had warned her that would happen, but Brienne had insisted, he remembered bitterly. There was dirt and soot everywhere, but still he could see the mark he'd put on her neck the night before. And most importantly, her eyes were closed. Those brilliant blue orbs – both the least and most beautiful part of her – were closed to him forever.

Jaime crashed to his knees, laid his head on her chest and wept.

They waited until twilight to bury her.

Pod drove the wagon, while Jaime rode Honor in silence. He gazed out over the wartorn landscape in the diminishing light. Jaime didn't know how burials were conducted on Tarth, and as happened all too often in wartime, he'd been forced to improvise. The army would be moving soon; there was little time to indulge the commander's grief. Brienne's body was wrapped tightly in thick white cloth and the blue cloak he'd given her laid reverently over it. Inwardly, Jaime winced at each and every jolt of the wagon, but it couldn't be helped.

Gazing at the horizon, Jaime saw a small copse of trees nestled against the riverbank. It reminded him of the place where he and Brienne had fought so many years ago. He called out to Pod and pointed. The young squire nodded and nudged the horses in that direction. Upon closer inspection, the small copse wasn't as pristine as it appeared from a distance. But it would serve. Jaime climbed down from his horse and waited for Pod.

Together, the awkward squire and the one handed knight dug the grave. Digging was much more difficult to do one handed than swordfighting, Jaime noted. It didn't take long for Jaime's arms and back to ache, but he ignored the pain and kept on. If Pod could dig, then so could he. They worked for hours, until long after the sun had set. The nearly full moon was high in the sky, bathing them in an ethereal glow.

Finally, they brought Brienne of Tarth to her final resting place. Jaime was forced to balance one of the handles on his golden hand, since he could not grip it properly. A sudden fear that he would drop his precious cargo nearly overwhelmed him. _Focus,_ he reminded himself, _you owe her this_.

After they lowered her into the ground, they stood quietly next to the open grave, each lost in thought. Unbidden, a series of images flashed across his mind. Brienne climbing up the cliff, the sword fight by the river, the Bloody Mummers. The astonished look on her face when he jumped in the bear pit, Oathkeeper, their reunion, confronting the Brotherhood without Banners, the night she came to his bed. A thousand memories, each more precious than the last. They were all he had left. Memories...and a promise.

He turned to Podrick Payne, unsheathing the sword from its scabbard. It was Oathkeeper.

"Kneel, Podrick Payne."


End file.
